


“What was Clint doing in a tree?”

by FeralCreed



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt, Veteran!Bucky, firefighter!clint, firehouse au, nerds, volunteer!Bucky, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asked for by anon on tumblr: "Winterhawk: I'm the volunteer cook at the firehouse and I've been crushing on your forever but oh GOD YOU ALMOST DIED WHILE SAVING A KITTEN". Featuring Bucky as the ex-Army volunteer cook and Clint as the firefighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“What was Clint doing in a tree?”

Bucky grumbles as his alarm goes off, flailing his hand about until he finds his phone and manages to shut the stupid thing off. Ugh, it's too early. At least he's sober and sane. When he'd first come back from his tour overseas, that hadn't always been applicable. His emotional damage was starting to heal; but his physical loss was not so lightly overseen. Fortunately he'd qualified for a prosthetic program overseen by world-infamous Tony Stark, and the prototype had been a huge help.

 

Still... it's too early. Bucky's injuries had excluded him from needing to find a job, and for a while he'd been happy about that. Eventually he'd found himself in need of something to do. He'd asked around for a volunteer position, and eventually he'd been pointed toward the firehouse. The only option was as kitchen help, but Bucky hadn't minded too much, especially once he started to fit in with the staff.

 

He does like his job, he thinks as he gets out of bed. And occasionally he'd stayed up too late the night before and wished his shift started later. But in general, he's happy with his life. Lonely at times, there's no question about that, but otherwise he can't complain. Especially since the fireman crews tend to walk around in their work pants and too-tight tshirts and tank tops. Since realizing his romantic attentions were not exclusive to females, Bucky has been appreciative of a chiselled working man.

 

And Clint definitely fits into that category. Why on earth was he thinking about Clint? They'd barely talked, even though they'd seen each other plenty of times. Usually Bucky had been busy with his work and Clint had been surrounded with his friends. Still, that didn't mean that Bucky's blind, and only a blind man could miss the fact that Clint's attractive. He's beyond attractive, he's hot as hell.

 

Once he's done with his shower and has changed, Bucky scrounges for breakfast and is out the door. It doesn't take him long to get to the firehouse, and the bus system manages to take him most of the way. Bucky tosses his Pop-Tart wrapper into a trash can when he gets to the kitchen and brushes the few lasting crumbs from his hands.

 

“Hey, Buck,” greets a friendly voice. Sam Wilson dates one of the firemen, a shy guy named Riley, and often helps out in the kitchen while waiting for Riley on his days off. “Got a new shipment of food in.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Bucky replies. He and Sam discuss meal options for later as they work to organize breakfast. They share most of the responsibility and enjoy working together. And Sam is fairly close with Clint, since he's on the same team as Riley.

 

Halfway through preparations for lunch, a whirlwind of activity bursts into the kitchen. “Sammy boy!” cheers Riley, wrapping his boyfriend in a hug that nearly lifts him off the ground. “Guess what Birdbrain did today.” That gets Bucky a little interested, not that the sudden spike in noise and action hasn't caught his attention already. 'Birdbrain' is Riley's favourite nickname for Clint.

 

“Oh?” Sam asks, kissing his boyfriend before pushing him back a little so he can go back to work.

 

“Yep, he almost killed himself.”

 

Bucky doesn't bother keeping his attention on what he was doing, his hands stilling as he glances up at Riley. “What?” he asks, half puzzled and half concerned.

 

“Hey, Bucky,” Riley greets him. “Yeah, Clint got the wind knocked out of him falling out of a tree.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh. “What was Clint doing in a tree?”

 

“A kitten,” Riley answers with a smirk.

 

“Clint always complains about cats,” Bucky reminds him. It's true, Clint loves birds (part of the reason for his nickname) and often gripes about how cats are a deadly menace to the creatures.

 

Riley just shrugs. “Well, some kid's kitten got stuck in a tree and we got called to deal with it. Clint didn't even bother with a ladder, he just scaled the tree like some crazy blond monkey. And of course he lost his grip once he actually had the cat, and fell ten feet.”

 

“Is he okay?” Bucky demands.

 

“Yep. He landed on his back and couldn't breathe for a full five minutes, which scared the whole team to death. Once he got his breath back, he was fine. Although I'm pretty sure nobody is letting him go up in a tree ever again.”

 

“Sure he's all right? Fall like that could have been nasty.”

 

“Bruce looked him over.”

 

“He's not that kind of doctor.”

 

“Yeah, but he does pretty well in a pinch.”

 

Bucky snorts under his breath. It's true, all things considered. Bruce had been a scientist but after a few experiments had gone wrong, to fatal and dangerous results, he'd searched for a different job. He'd been quiet and shy at first, but the station had quickly adopted him as family, and he'd fit in nearly as fast. Though he did hold several doctorates, he wasn't a medical doctor, despite the firehouse's collective habit of calling him 'Doc Banner'. And when called upon, he could do a pretty good job of patching up the stray firemen that called for his help. Nearly all of them had an ungodly hate of actual medical assistance.

 

“Riley my man,” yells a loud, cheerful voice. Bucky startles at the sudden intrusion on the relative quiet of the kitchen, which is generally only background noise, and curses when he nicks his finger with a knife. “Whoa, dude, you okay?”

 

“Hi, Clint,” Riley says with a roll of his eyes. “I take it those pain meds are still working.”

 

“I thought you said Bruce looked him over,” Sam mentions.

 

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean that Clint's all right.”

 

Bucky removes his sliced finger from his mouth long enough to ask, “What's wrong?”

 

“He cracked a couple ribs,” Riley explains. “So Bruce gave him some pain meds. We forgot how bad he gets when he's on the stuff.”

 

“I'd hate to see him on morphine,” Bucky mentions.

 

“And you would have blackmail material for life,” Sam agrees.

 

“I agree to – but protest – that statement,” Clint informs them. “Bucky-my-boy, you all right? You're still bleeding.”

 

Bucky glances down at his hand. Huh, he is. “It'll be fine,” he says with a small shrug. Reaching for a paper towel, he folds it over four or five times before wrapping it around the cut and using a piece of tape to secure it. “See?”

 

“You could use an actual band-aid,” Clint points out. “I don't think that's going to work too well.”

 

“Well, it'll work until the bleeding stops, and then I won't need it.”

 

Clint pouts at him, then suddenly cheers up. “We can take you to Bruce! He has a whole medical kit, he's gotta have a band-aid.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “And why are you so interested in making sure I get a band-aid?”

 

“Hey, fine, you don't want one, you don't have to get one.” Clint has a hangdog look now, like Bucky had refused a solid and genuine declaration of love.

 

Dammit, Bucky knows better than to give into a disappointed look and a pair of pretty eyes. But he sighs and nods. “All right, take me to Bruce so I can get a band-aid.”

 

“Sucker,” Riley yells after him. He yelps dramatically when Sam swats him with a towel, catching the end to pull him into a kiss.

 

“Hey, stop making out in my kitchen,” Bucky tells them as Clint tugged him out of it. Whether the two obeys, he doesn't know, but he knows Sam is a responsible person.

 

“Doctor _Ban_ ner,” Clint sings out, knocking on his door. “I have a friend that needs a band-aid.”

 

Bruce opens the door and regards the pair of them in a mildly quizzical way. “Hello, Clint. You haven't hurt yourself again already, have you?”

 

“Nope,” Clint answers, popping the 'p'. “But Bucky cut his finger and he needs a band-aid. Please?”

 

“It would be my pleasure. C'mon in.” Bruce pulls a first aid kit from under his desk and opens it.

 

Clint takes the band-aid from Bruce as Bucky removes his makeshift paper towel bandage. “Hold still,” he tells Bucky seriously, and lines up the pad of the band-aid with the cut. “There.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, unable to help a small smile. Living alone, with no family in the area, he's not quite used to having someone take care of him.

 

“You work in the kitchen, right?” Clint asks. Bucky nods in reply, tilting his head a little in curiosity. “I'm hungry.”

 

“A trade of services?” Bucky suggests. “Band-aid for a snack?”

 

“Sounds good,” Clint agrees. “Coming, Doc?”

 

“No, I'm good,” Bruce answers. “But thank you. Have fun.”

 

“He's feeding me, of course I will,” Clint tells him. “Come on, Bucky, let's go. I need food.”

 

Bucky chuckles as Clint tries to drag him down the hallway. “All right, all right, chill out.”

 

“Oh my god, how are you so _heavy_?”

 

“I have a metal-plated prosthetic.”

 

“Really?” Clint blinks at him. “Can I see or do you not like to show people? Either way's fine.”

 

“You can see it,” Bucky tells him with a little shrug. He shakes his wrist out of Clint's grasp and sheds his jacket, holding it in his right hand and holding out his prosthetic arm. The plates whir softly as they recalibrate, and Clint's eyes widen in surprise. “If you want, you can touch it.”

 

Clint cups his palm around the arm and hesitates for a moment, giving Bucky a last chance to back out. Instead, the dark-haired man lowers his limb into Clint's hold. “Wow,” Clint says softly. “This is so cool. How did you get it? I've never seen a prosthetic like this.”

 

“Tony Stark. His R&D branch was looking for veterans to test out prosthetics that could be used in combat. I lost my arm to the shoulder in the Middle East almost two years ago. When I came back here, I wasn't too interested in getting a limb, but this is a lot better than anything else I could have tried for.”

 

“Wow.” Clint lets go and grins at him. “It sucks that you got hurt, but that's really cool.”

 

“Yeah, it really is. Usually people just freak out when they hear I got hurt and don't say anything about the arm.”

 

“Ridiculous,” Clint says dismissively. “Are you comfortable talking about it?”

 

“About the arm, yeah. 'Bout how I lost it, no.” Bucky offers an apologetic smile, but Clint doesn't seem to mind the restrictions in the slightest.

 

“Makes sense.” Clint asks a few questions about the arm and how it works, talking much more intelligently than Bucky had expected. They're deep in conversation by the time they get to the kitchen, but Bucky grins sheepishly at Sam to apologize for being distracted long enough that the food is already starting to be dished out.

 

“Hey, no worries, bro,” Sam tells him. “We got this. Keep on babysitting Clint.”

 

“Babysitting is a totally inaccurate term,” Clint protests.

 

“I wouldn't let you go near anything sharp or on fire, so... Close enough,” Riley says with a grin.

 

“That's just rude. But fine. Since Bucky's taking care of me now, I'm going to steal him for the rest of the day.”

 

“Well, since I'm apparently not helping with lunch, I'm free for the rest of the day,” Bucky replies. “You wanna eat here or go out somewhere?” He waits for an answer but Clint ignores him in favour of talking with Riley.

 

“Birdbrain,” Sam says, snapping his fingers by Clint's left ear, the one closest to himself and Bucky. He gets no response.

 

“Yo, brat,” Riley tells Clint, tapping his left ear. “Missing something.”

 

“Aw, c'mon. Really?” Clint digs his finger into his ear and withdraws a small, flesh-coloured piece of plastic. “Dammit. Wait, did someone say something to me?”

 

“Uh-huh. Bucky asked if you wanted to eat here or somewhere else.”

 

“Oh crap.” Clint turns to face Bucky with an apologetic expression. “I have hearing aids. About eighty percent of my hearing is gone in my left ear. So I wasn't ignoring you intentionally, I promise. Let me get my spare set from Barney's truck and then we can go somewhere.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, turning so he's walking on Clint's right side and the other man can hear him. “Who's Barney?”

 

“My brother. I'm borrowing his truck since my car's broken again and he's out of town.”

 

They end up taking Barney's truck to find somewhere to eat. Clint lets Bucky choose the place, and they end up at a high-end establishment called Burger King. After they're done eating, they end up sitting there talking for almost an hour more. Bucky lets Clint drop him off at his apartment and agrees that he'll likely be at the firehouse the next day.

 

“Let's do this again sometime,” Clint suggests. “I'd like to get to know you better.”\

 

Bucky's a little surprised by the offer but agrees. “Sure. I'd like that too.”

 

At the end of Bucky's shift the next day, they meet just outside the cafeteria. Clint's not back on active duty until his ribs heal, so he's wearing sweatpants and a Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt rather than his normal attire.

 

“Nerd,” Bucky says with a little grin. Since he's wearing a Star Wars tee under his Army jacket, he doesn't have much room to talk.

 

“Rude,” Clint informs him, giving him a mock glare before pecking his cheek. Bucky's eyes shoot up to disappear into his hairline and Clint rubs the back of his neck. “Too much?”

 

“You're good,” Bucky hastens to reassure him. “I just haven't been affectionate with anyone since I got back.”

 

“Ugh, you two are disgusting,” Sam informs them. “Go on, get out of here.”

 

Clint chuckles and moves to obey. Bucky slips his arm around the blond's waist, grinning when the other man smiles at him. “Let me take you out to dinner, Mr. Barton?”

 

“Sergeant Barnes, it would be my pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism appreciated! Want to send a prompt/heacanon or talk? Visit me @ [my tumblr](the-star-spangled-bucky.tumblr.com)!


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